


The Grim Brothers

by Rebness



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebness/pseuds/Rebness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very AU: Louis and David, stepbrothers travelling through 18th century France, end up in a remote village in the Auvergne - where an unknown beast is killing people. Can they solve the mystery? Probably. Well, David will. Louis will sit there and contemplate candles. VC take on Red Riding Hood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The village

‘Damn and blast!’ cried David.

Louis stood up, gasping for breath, as his brother stomped through the heavy snow and thumped the back of the little carriage viciously. ‘I take it went well?’

David slung his hat upon the ground and, in a rare display of temper, stamped on it viciously. ‘We can’t get the bloody horses to pull forward. Even if we get out of this accursed snow drift, the bloody damn things won’t move!’

Jacques, the coachman, moved around to the back of the carriage and wagged his fingers in David’s face. ‘You do not hit my carriage, Monsieur. You do that and you pay, you understand?’ He wiped his nose, which was red and swollen in the cold morning air. ‘The horses need rest. I’ll take you to the next village and we can maybe use post horses there once the snow clears.’

‘How long will that take?’

‘Monsieur, it is the Auvergne. It might be two weeks before we can clear a path.’

‘But the ship sails on Monday afternoon!’ implored David. ‘Can’t you get another coach-and-six before then?’

‘Of course we can! We will have some tomorrow for you.’

‘Then we can continue tomorrow?’

‘But the snow, Monsieur,’ said Jacques blandly.

David slumped against the coach. ‘The next sailing for Bari might not be another month.’

Jacques patted him on the shoulder. ‘Come, we’ll go to the village and rest. I’ll help you with your luggage.’

As he began taking the suitcases down, David cast a warning glare at Louis. ‘Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare say it.’

Louis smirked. ‘That’s the thing about being a pessimist, dear stepbrother: you never receive unpleasant surprises.’

‘Life must be so pleasant for you,’ said David, slinging Louis’s suitcase at him. ‘Let’s find a room. And drink. Plenty of drink.’

 

~

As soon as they were at the centre of the small village – there were perhaps thirty houses – Jacques enlisted a few of the local boys to help him retrieve the stubborn horses and the carriage from the roadside. He pointed Louis and David in the general direction of the village inn and promised he’d return later.

David raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s bitterly cold, isn’t it?’

‘If you hadn’t stamped on your hat—‘

‘I knew you’d say that.’

‘Of course you did.’

‘Well, we are standing outside a draper’s. I was about to suggest I procure myself a new hat and you attempt to be amenable – for once in your dirge of a life – and find out if we may both find transport from this accursed _field_ in which we seem to have found ourselves.’

‘Why me?’ asked Louis, greatly alarmed by the idea of talking to people he didn’t know.

‘You speak better French than I do, of course.’

Louis smirked. ‘I did wonder why you wanted a dirge field.’

‘I said that perfectly well, I know I did.’

‘No, you didn’t. You said you wanted a dirge field and also you were cursed. Don’t argue with me; I speak better French.’

David shoved him into the doorway of the shop, laughing.

A middle-aged man looked up from the counter as they entered, and smiled. ‘Bon deu! Qu'atengui desempuish gaireben ua mieja ora—‘

Louis glanced at David. ‘Auvergnat. I can’t understand a word, I’m afraid. I’ll just go and wait outside—‘

‘Messieurs, you are not from here?' asked the man upon seeing their alarmed looks. ‘I speak French. Come, come in!’

David pulled Louis back from the door and shoved him further into the shop. ‘I need a hat. Can you help?’

Louis moved across the small shop floor, pretending to look at different materials so as to avoid conversation. David seemed to be doing well enough, anyway, chattering to the draper about their misfortune as he tried on different hats. He was glad at least for the warmth, and began to daydream as he browsed, startled when a voice came from behind him: ‘Would you like some assistance, Monsieur?’

He turned to see a handsome young woman with dark, intelligent eyes, modestly dressed. He shook his head. ‘No—I’m fine. I am merely waiting for my stepbrother-‘ he gestured to David.

She smiled. ‘But you are not from this village. Your accent, I don’t quite place it. You are not French?’

‘I am!’ he said, a little more indignantly than he wished. ‘I was born in France. I have been living in Nouvelle Orleans, but now I am returned to Paris.’

‘Oh, but is it very different out there? One hears so many savage tales.’

‘Mademoiselle Freniere!’ said the shopkeeper sharply. ‘You can go back to your work.’

She regarded him haughtily. ‘Pierre, I shall do no such thing until I have introduced myself, in the proper Parisian manner.’

‘Oh, do as you please!’

She curtseyed gracefully before Louis. ‘I am Babette Freniere.’

‘Louis de Pointe du Lac.’ He kissed her hand.

David finished his purchase, and walked over. He took up her hand. ‘David Talbot, Monsieur du Lac’s stepbrother.’

‘So I believe.’ Babette moved back behind the counter to help Pierre tidy up their modest collection. ‘What brings you to our little village?’

‘The snow,’ sighed David.

Pierre laughed. ‘That’s how we get most of our custom in the winter months.’

‘Yes,’ said David morosely. ‘I would wager. And now we may be stuck here for days, and I have a ship I need to be on. I was supposed to be in Bari by Thursday, you see.’

‘Shame,’ said Pierre, not sounding sorry at all.

Babette turned to him. ‘But can’t you take them, Pierre?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not going to risk my life in that snow. I heard it’s near an ell deep on some parts of the road.’

Babette frowned. ‘But it’s not safe.’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘It’s not safe _here_.’

‘None of this talk, now!’

David leant forward. ‘What talk, exactly?’

Pierre cast Babette a warning look, but she burst out: ‘There’s a loup-garou, you see!’

‘What!’ exclaimed David.

‘A werewolf,’ said Louis in English. 

‘I know full well what loup-garou means,’ snapped David. ‘But—‘

‘You think we’re making it up,’ growled Pierre.

‘Yes,’ said Louis.

‘No!’ said David.

Louis turned to his brother. ‘You’re not serious!’

David gave him a tolerant look. ‘There’ve been documented cases, all across Europe.’

‘There are documented cases of hobgoblins and vampires, David, and you’ve never seen any of them.’

He rapped on the counter. ‘I’ve never seen Kyoto, but I know it exists!’

Louis closed his eyes and counted to ten. He turned back to the shopkeepers. ‘Here is a question for you.’

‘Yes?’ said Babette.

‘Has anyone actually _seen_ the loup-garou?’

‘Well, no.’

Louis held his hands out to David. ‘There, you see?’

‘But a villager was attacked by it and he lived, so there!’

David shoved Louis aside. ‘What? You can take us to this villager?’

‘How do they know they were attacked if they didn’t see it, for crying out loud!’ said Louis.

Pierre regarded him as if he were an idiot. ‘If I were attacked by a lion, I’d know.’

‘You wouldn’t think it was maybe a tiger if you couldn’t see it?’ said Louis slyly.

‘Its fur would be different – see here, are you simple?’

David chuckled. ‘Obsessed with _facts_ , that’s all. I take it the villager managed to salvage some scrapings, or perhaps hair from the wolf?’

Pierre cast him an indignant look. ‘Of course he did! Why else would we believe him?’

They all turned accusing stares on Louis, who scowled. ‘Why indeed?’

‘Where can we meet this man?’ asked David eagerly.

Pierre took off his apron. ‘His name’s Lestat de Lioncourt. He lives at the inn over yonder. I’ll take you to him.’

‘Monsieur Talbot, this is very forward of you!’ protested Babette. ‘I do not think you should be eager to harass a young man about something terrible just to satisfy your own curiosity.’

‘Ah, forgive me,’ said David. ‘I am a member of an elite organisation – it’s very fortuitous that we should come here today – I specialise in rooting out these monsters. If you knew of the things that I have seen!’

‘I should very much tremble,’ she said hurriedly. ‘But will you destroy this monster?’

David flushed, and Louis could not help but smile at his discomfort, for he knew what was coming next: ‘Well, no. But—I will _study_ it, you see, and from that we will learn more about this creature and—document it.’

Babette frowned. ‘Document it? You mean you will shoot it, and vivisect it, yes?’

‘Ah—no. I’ll make notes.’

The two shopkeepers stared at him, aghast. ‘But that’s absurd!’ said Pierre.

‘It’s not for us to take charge of these matters,’ retorted David.

‘The loup-garou eats people. It’s killed eight villagers this year alone!’ snapped Babette. ‘And you want to write daft things about it, and show it off in Paris and London, and you will say, “There is a monster killing off all the people in Cantal, but here, I have a sketch and isn’t it pretty!”’

David bit his lip. ‘That’s not quite how it goes.’ He turned to Louis. ‘Tell them!’

Babette focused her fierce gaze on Louis now, and he held his hands up placatingly. ‘I am not part of this, Mademoiselle. I don’t even believe in these things.’

‘Oh, you foolish pair! I can’t decide which of you is worse!’ she snapped.

David laughed at that, delighted with her spirit. He nudged his brother, who could not help but smile fondly. ‘Perhaps we shall find this creature, my lady, and then we will confer about what we should do next.’

Babette gave him a tolerant look, as if to say that she knew she was being patronised, but had decided to rise above it. ‘Very well. We shall do that.’ She stepped aside to allow Pierre to move past the counter and lead the way to the tavern. ‘But you will be careful.’

Louis took up her hand and kissed it again. ‘Yes.’

‘I hope to see you again, Messieurs,’ said Babette as he released her. ‘Monsieur du Lac, I hope to see you again.’

Louis looked back at her, struck again by her lovely eyes, her milky skin. He was past being unaware of how his own good looks affected others, and he was pleased at her demeanour. He smiled. ‘Most assuredly.’

~

 

The tavern was the oldest house in the village, a large converted manor house towards the other end of the settlement, fringed by near-black conifer trees rising like dark soldiers from the snow. The rooms were lit within, though the evening had not yet approached. Louis and David glanced up at the sign above the door:

A black cat with huge blue eyes above the words: _Le Chat Noir._

Louis shook his head, surprised at the vague feeling of foreboding which swept through him. ‘I have the strangest sense of déjà vu.’

‘You are fatigued, Monsieur,’ said Pierre, leading them in.

There were two patrons in the relatively large tavern, one quite drunk and the other glowering at the travellers from one corner. There was a red-haired woman cleaning the counter, who looked up as they entered. ‘Pierre! To what do we owe the honour? I thought we were too depraved for you!’

He laughed. ‘Did I say that, Mademoiselle Reeves? Ah, you know I say silly things!’

‘So I heard,’ she said ruefully. ‘You bring us more guests?’

‘Yes, and they are monster-hunters!’

‘I am not!’ said Louis indignantly.

‘I don’t technically hunt them,’ said David.

Mademoiselle Reeves regarded them silently. She glanced at Louis, her light green eyes piercing for the briefest instant, before alighting on David and studying him intensely. 'How can I help you?' 

'Monsieur Talbot, the Englishman - like yourself, Mademoiselle Jessica - he wants to speak with Lestat.' 

Jessica looked down and began wiping the counter again. ‘Monsieur de Lioncourt is out hunting. He usually returns late with his catch.'

‘Oh,’ said David, disappointed. ‘Well, I’m sure we will have a good conversation with him later. Would we be able to procure lodgings here?’

‘For how long?’

David looked at Louis, who shrugged. ‘We are not sure. We are just waiting for the snow to abate, and then we’ll be on our way.’

‘A week,’ decided Jessica.

‘We won’t be here that long.’

‘You can pay for a week, and if you manage to get out of here before then – I doubt it – I will return the money to you.’

‘Fair enough,’ said David. He reached into his pockets. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

~

‘I don’t like this room,’ said David as he shut the door behind them. It was a relatively sparse affair, with two single beds, a desk, candles, a little wash basin and thick glass windows with heavy drapes.

‘Did you expect the Hotel Grande?’ said Louis.

‘You misunderstand me.’

‘Of course, the beds are probably delightful affairs, and we may have bedbugs—‘

‘Louis,’ he interrupted quietly. ‘ _You're not listening_.’

‘What is it?’

‘There’s something wrong.’

‘You’re going to say the room’s haunted,’ said Louis with a sigh. ‘Just once, I would like to stay somewhere devoid of ghosts and ghouls and evil things.' 

'Wherever humans have existed, there remains some remote sadness,' said David. 'But there is something wrong in this place, something sinister.' He stalked over to the window, drew back the drapes and regarded the forest, looming more ominously now as day began to die. 'I believe there's something supernatural here.' He pulled the curtains together sharply, and turned to his brother. 'If it gets dangerous, we will leave -- even if it's on foot, do you hear?' 

Louis shrugged. 'All right, I'll trust you.' 

And he did. For all his protestations of having a scientific mind, his Catholic upbringing kept superstition firmly hidden within him. And besides, David could see things he couldn’t. If the hairs on the nape of one’s neck stood on end when entering a room, Louis would put it down to a draught; David would shake his head and tell him no, there was a child killed here twenty years past, the room remembered it. And it was almost inevitable that Louis would scoff at his fanciful notions, and then something would happen – a book would be flung across the room by invisible hands, or a neighbour would confirm something grisly happened there.

But as a child of the Enlightment, he felt duty-bound to mock these things. And there was also the thing which frightened him most: David’s first assertion on meeting him that such green eyes were unlucky. He'd said it so seriously, and blathered on about them being the mark of a cursed person, and Louis had scoffed; but there it was. 

David had tried to coach him in the art of recognising these things, divining dreams and meanings, but nothing came. He had no talent, no instinct when it came to these things. His own sister said it was because he was dull, given to pragmatism and that his only life experience was through books. He’d pointed out that she hadn’t even walked outside of a night by herself before, and she’d grown fierce and lectured him on things so absurd (a woman being equal to a man, a lady perhaps wanting to travel) that he’d feared for her sanity.

'Perhaps we should leave,' said Louis uneasily, feeling homesickness crest within him. He wished he were in the parlour of their Parisian townhouse, listening to his sister play the spinet. Adventure outside of a book or a play didn't suit him at all. 

'But the mystery is just starting, don't be absurd!' 

‘I don’t care about hunting and silly blasphemous stories,’ grumbled Louis. ‘I want to go home.’

‘You’d only be in Montelimar at best by now; you wouldn’t be home.’

‘Yes,' he said testily, 'but I’d be in the salon there, contemplating life and death in front of some lovely painting.’

‘This is very much life and death – it’s a loup-garou!’

'Will you stop saying that, by God!' 

David shook his head as he picked up his suitcase and placed it on the bed, beginning to unpack. 'Patience. I'm sure we'll be all right. There's no need to be afraid.' 

'I'm not afraid!' said Louis. 

'You're afraid of living, certainly.' 

'You're afraid of acting rationally, or staying safe!' He lay on the bed, fully clothed - determined to show some lack of regard for The Rules - and pulled the pillow over his head. 'I'm going to sleep. Go and have your adventure, and wake me up when you're done.' 

~

He'd dozed while David pottered around the room, straightening up the furniture and unpacking both of their suitcases, tutting demonstrably while he did so. His brother had shaved and left the room, and when he awoke to David once again in the room, reading by the candelight at the desk, the sky was black outside. It gave the room a melancholy, claustrophobic air, and he felt the familiar cold dread pass over him. He silently thanked God for David's warm and authoratitive presence in the room; it helped dispel the darkness somewhat. 

'How long was I asleep?' he asked, sitting up. 

'A couple of hours, maybe.' 

'Did you have an adventure?' 

'I wandered through the village. It took maybe half an hour. There's very little to see here, though there's a delightful old chapel you should come and see.' 

Louis shrugged. 'Maybe tomorrow.' He went to the wash basin and regarded himself in the mirror: he looked pale and gaunt. The colder climes did nothing for his skin. 'Do I hear music?' he asked, reaching for a wash cloth. 

'Yes, there are some people playing downstairs. Once you're ready, we should go and look, maybe get something to eat. I'm famished.'

~

Downstairs, in the tavern, Louis's dark mood slowly wore away. The lamps were all lighted and the large room was full of patrons, talking and laughing and full of life. He quite forgot the black pull of the night outside, and sat down at a table near the bar with David. They ordered a simple hotpot dish and red wine to wash it down. They were close enough to the bar for David to enter into an animated conversation with Jessica Reeves, but their talk of the arcane and old Auvergne superstitions bored Louis, so he sulked over his wine. 

A man struck up a tune on the violin. A young plump woman stepped forward. She began singing a melancholy song in Auvergnat about her lover. David and Louis could not follow the whole song, but caught lyrics about him having drowned in a lake.

‘You Latin people,’ said David mildly. Jessica gave him a cheeky wink. 

Louis didn’t answer the good-natured gibe. He took another sip of the wine – mellow, surprisingly good wine for a country tavern – and concentrated on the music. He didn’t regard such songs as art, per se – they could never match the grandeur of a stirring Gossec rendition, but it was pleasant enough. The journey from Paris had been tiring and he wasn’t at all accustomed so much travel, and his complaints had been met with scorn from his stepbrother, so he’d secretly enjoyed David’s rage at being forced to stay somewhere for more than a matter of hours. 

His happy stupor was interrupted when the door to the tavern opened with a gust of bitterly cold air. A tall young man pushed through the doorway, carrying a brace of pheasants. He stalked through to the back room with his haul, shaking the snow from his wild blond hair as he did so.

David nodded in his direction. ‘Monsieur de Lioncourt?’

‘Monsieur de Lioncourt,’ said Jessica. She followed the hunter into the back room.

Louis stared at the open door. ‘Are we going to talk to him? Tonight?’

David smiled enigmatically. ‘If you wish.’

‘I mean – simply so that you can perform your research – I wouldn’t want to rush you.’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you think that you can—‘ Louis began, but he was distracted by the sight of Monsieur de Lioncourt, who had shed his greatcoat and fixed his hair, striding purposefully into the room. The hunter helped himself to some wine from behind the counter and took a drink, before he took up the hand of a pretty young woman dressed in peasant’s clothing. He swept her into an open space on the tavern floor and began to dance with her, while she laughed coquettishly – shamefully, thought Louis resentfully – and pulled him close.

David tapped Louis on the arm, and leaned in close. ‘Louis, we’re never going to make that boat.’

He looked up at his brother. ‘I do believe you’ve said this before.’

‘You needn’t smile about it, you vile creature!’

‘I wasn’t—‘

‘Don’t think I can’t tell your surface thoughts, or shall I lecture you on Monsieur de Lioncourt?’

Louis narrowed his eyes. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

David regarded him in that inscrutable way of his, opened his mouth to speak, then appeared to think better of it. He pulled back the wine bottle. ‘I think – no, hands off – you should drink a little more slowly. I won’t permit another bottle tonight.’

‘You won’t _permit_ it? You think you’ll stop me?’

‘Would you like me to send a letter to your mother and inform them I couldn't save you from the asylum this time?' 

Louis growled. ‘That was none of your business, and you're cheap in bringing it up.’

‘And how grateful you should be that you are here to be angry with me, and how much more grateful should you be that my father and I came along before you could drink yourself into an early grave!’ said David sharply.

They glared at each other challengingly, but then Louis felt the familiar shame and guilt crest in him, and he looked away. David was never callous enough to mention Paul, but his dead brother was always a reproachful shadow in the background, testament to his egotism. ‘All right,’ he said softly, flinching when David, as good-natured as ever, squeezed his hand in mute apology. Louis turned back to the hunter, unable to meet David’s gaze.

Monsieur de Lioncourt still danced, and Louis regarded him critically. He was handsome in the most pedestrian way; tall, with flaxen hair, blue eyes, a good physique. He was proud and arrogant and Louis didn’t doubt he knew he was good-looking. He danced well, favouring people with a grin every so often, revealing a set of immaculate white teeth.

Louis disliked such flashiness in a person, and yet he felt reluctant gratification when the hunter flashed him a friendly smile. He leaned back against his chair and regarded the tavern, warm and welcoming, the smell of good food , and the pleasant, simple villagers. He raised his glass to David.

‘All right,’ he said softly. ‘We’ll stay a couple of nights.’


	2. Monsieur de Lioncourt

  
  
The song ended, and the woman who had been dancing with Lestat gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before excusing herself.  He watched her go, only turning when Jessica walked up to him and whispered something in his ear.  They broke out into laughter, and Louis felt his cheeks burn. He was certain they were talking of him and his brother.  
  
   
  
Jessica pulled him towards their table.  ‘Qu’ei trobat aqueste omes interessant, Lestat.’  
  
   
  
Lestat followed her gaze to David, then to Louis. He rubbed the inside of his wrist, his eyes large and thoughtful as he stared at the brothers. ‘Oh? Explicatz aquo.’  
  
   
  
David watched them for a moment, then turned to Louis. ‘How frightfully rude!’ he whispered.  
  
   
  
‘I know,’ said Louis placatingly. He was scandalised by how obvious it was that they were talking about their guests, and even more so that they didn’t seem to care if David and Louis knew it.  They were a world away from the affected manners with which he’d been brought up; he was simply glad that his dear maman wasn’t there to see it.  
  
   
  
If that had upset them, David nearly spat feathers when the young hunter strode up to them and simply asked, in gruff French, ‘who are you?’  
  
   
  
They rose to make their introductions, determined to teach these people how gentlemen should behave. David bowed and then took the young man’s hand. ‘David Talbot, Englishman, at your service.’  
  
   
  
The young man grinned at him, obviously amused at his formal manner. ‘Lestat de Lioncourt, not at anyone’s service.’  
  
   
  
‘Well, I say!’  
  
   
  
Lestat smiled at him again.  He allowed his gaze to drift to Louis, and his ready smile turned into a frown when he marked Louis’s disapproving expression. ‘And you?’  
  
   
  
‘Monsieur Louis de Pointe du Lac,’  
  
   
  
‘Your accent is strange.’  
  
   
  
Louis stiffened: he hated comments on his accented French, of which he was painfully aware. ‘It’s not _strange_ ,’ he said. ‘It’s merely different.’  
  
   
  
‘Different, strange. Same meaning.’  
  
   
  
‘No,’ said Louis emphatically. ‘It’s not.’  
  
   
  
‘Who are you? Monsieur Descartes?’  
  
   
  
‘How utterly charming,’ said Louis acidly. ‘Do you greet all your guests in this manner?’  
  
   
  
Lestat shrugged. ‘You’re not my guest. I am not a goddamn innkeeper.’ He sat down at their table and rested his boots on Louis’s chair, rolling his eyes as Louis pushed his feet off. ‘I greeted you, didn’t I?’  
  
Louis, outraged, turned to David. He felt a stab of betrayal to see his brother laughing silently.  'I suppose you did,' said David.  
   
'In the rudest manner possible,' snapped Louis. 'Did the devil teach you etiquette?'  
  
Lestat smirked. ‘You have the look of the devil in _you_ , with your strange cat’s eyes.’  
  
Louis pushed his chair away from the table and made to stand up. Lestat reached forward and covered his hand quickly. 'Peace. I didn't mean that.'  
  
'You are rude and you insult me, Monsieur.' He fixed Lestat with a cold look. 'And remove your hand from mine at once.'  
  
 Lestat did so, and then held up his hand placatingly. 'There. I'm sorry.'  
  
'Oh, Louis,' said David. 'Do sit down. Let's not make enemies yet.'  
  
'You make a habit of creating enemies?' said Lestat, laughing. He had turned his attention back to David, focusing on him with such energy and friendliness that Louis felt he would look foolish to storm out now. He reluctantly pulled his chair back and sat down again.  
  
David chuckled. 'Sometimes we do.'  
  
'I can't imagine how,' said Lestat, winking at Louis.  
  
'Jessica was telling me about your own village's problems,' said David. 'I'm glad we didn't pass through six months ago; Consumption was rife here, wasn't it?'  
  
'Yes,' said Lestat. 'It was about the same time as the killings started.'  He narrowed his eyes. 'If she told you about the sickness, then she must have told you about the killings.'  
  
'She did,'  said David. 'I wonder if...' He considered.  'But never mind all that for now. My father had Consumption. It's a terrible thing.'  
  
'As did my mother,' said Lestat. 'I hated seeing her so ill.'  
  
'I'm sorry,' said David. 'Thankfully, my father didn't have to abide it too long. Did she suffer much?'  
  
Lestat placed his hands around his wine glass and stared moodily at it. 'Yes. We called in a priest.' He growled. 'As if that would save her! I chased him away.'  
  
Louis was scandalised. 'But her soul!'  
  
'Is fine,' said Lestat. 'She got better.’  
  
‘She recovered?’ said Louis. ‘From Consumption?’  
  
   
  
Lestat spread his hands. ‘She has a strong constitution.’  
  
   
  
‘And where is she now?’  
  
   
  
Lestat took a sip of wine, and smirked at him. ‘Travelling.’  
  
   
  
David laughed, genuinely delighted at Lestat’s flippant manner. They shared conspiratorial grins, which irritated Louis. He hated feeling like the third wheel, especially when he found Lestat’s manner infuriating rather than delightful.  
  
'And your father is with her, yes?' said Louis sharply.  
  
'No, my family live a day’s travel from here, up in the mountains.’  
  
'He allowed her to go?' said David.  
  
'I'd like to see anyone stop her,' said Lestat. 'God knows I left as soon as I could.'  
  
'Families can be taxing,' said David.  
  
'But don't they need you?' asked Louis.  
   
Lestat scowled. 'Oh, yes. And happy too they would have been to have me chained to them for life, serving them.  There was nothing there for me, nothing. ‘ He looked down, his manner troubled, confused. ‘I haven’t heard from my mother in a long time. I should probably go searching for her.’  
   
David nodded sagely. 'These are not good times for anyone to travel, not in France.'  
  
 'So much upheaval of late,' said Lestat. 'She has to travel under a pseudonym. There's a lot of hatred for the aristocracy in the provinces.'  
  
Louis wrinkled his nose. 'An aristocrat!'  
  
'What, are you going to tell me you're a revolutionary?' said Lestat with a bitter smile. 'Do you dare tell me that?'  
  
'Don't be ridiculous,' said Louis. 'I don't care for those savage peasants turning against what God ordained. But you must admit, Monsieur, you are not much like an aristocrat.' He gestured to Lestat's muddy boots, still occupying half the table. 'Your inelegance is somewhat disconcerting.'  
  
‘A true aristocrat doesn’t scrape and fawn,’ sneered Lestat. ‘You have the strangest notions of how your betters should behave.'  
  
'My _betters_?' said Louis, but he felt the colour rise in him; he felt his own New World perceptions of his homeland challenged once again, and his humiliation at the lack of knowledge he possessed caused the retort to die in his throat.  
  
Lestat seemed to read all this on his face, for he smiled to soften his words and then moved the conversation on.  
  
Louis sat back and allowed David to do the talking. His stepbrother seemed much more adept at dealing with the irascible Monsieur de Lioncourt, easily finding common interests and talking at length about hunting and travel, with Lestat responding warmly to his conversation. They prattled on like close friends and Louis felt that familiar loneliness creep up on him. He was not good at talking of everyday things with just anyone. He didn't possess David's open, friendly ways, or ability to feign interest (or perhaps it was genuine interest: it would be just like good, kind, frustratingly noble David) in people he barely knew.  
  
He watched Monsieur de Lioncourt talk. The hunter really was very handsome, with eyes that seemed blue one moment, grey the next. His laugh was infectious, but overly loud. He seemed to find most things that David said funny, though his face grew serious and alluringly young-looking as the conversation turned to the subject of the loup-garou. He had been attacked, he said. There really was a monster in the forest and yes, he would help David track it down if he so wished.  
  
Louis reached up languidly and moved a lock of hair away from his face as he listened to David lay out their plans for hunting that week. He glanced at Lestat, and was startled to see the hunter staring at him.  
  
‘What is it?’ he asked, flushing.  
  
'Nothing,' said Lestat, but he moved his gaze from Louis slowly enough for Louis to be offended at his insolence.  
  
'But did it bite you or claw you?' David was saying.  
  
Lestat shrugged, looking up at David. 'I think it clawed me. It mauled me, and I wasn't thinking straight. If it hadn't been for my mastiffs--'  
  
'They fought it off? And lived?'  
  
'They were good dogs,' Lestat said. 'They were good dogs.'  His expression grew troubled again, like quicksilver. Louis felt dazed just from stealing glances at his expressive face. He flushed when Lestat looked up and quirked him a warm smile. 'I'll show you the scar, if you like.' He paused, then turned to Louis. 'Either one of you can see it  -- I'll show you in the back room.'    
  
David raised an eyebrow. 'Louis can go and look,' he said smoothly. 'I'd like to talk to Mademoiselle Reeves a little more.'  
  
'Yes, that would be fine,' said Lestat.  
  
Louis was startled at how neatly they had caught him up. 'No,' he said sharply. 'I have no interest in this and I don't know what to look for.'  
  
Lestat shrugged. 'Alors, we can leave it, it's all right.'  
  
'No, we should very much like proof of this werewolf,' said David. He smiled at Lestat as he stood up and walked to the back room. 'Go on, Louis. Go occupy his attention while I speak with Jessica.'  
  
'David, I don't even know what a wolf's bite should look like!'  
  
'It's not like learning the Bible by rote,' said David. 'Just take a look at the scarring on Lestat, tell me if you think it's like a wolf's marks.'  
  
 'David!' he hissed. 'Just why did you--'  
  
David grabbed his hand. 'If he's sweet on you, use it!'  
  
'I don't--'  
  
'Just do this one thing for me. For God's sake, Louis! Can't you see this would mean a lot to me? Can't my interests come first, for once?'  
  
Louis opened his mouth to argue, but realised Lestat was watching them from the other end of the room. He straightened up. 'Fine. But this is all I will do for your childish supernatural games.'  
  
He followed Lestat into the back room, avoiding Jessica's curious glance as he moved past her.  
  
*  
  
'Let me light some more candles,' said Lestat conversationally as he entere the room. 'It's hard to see in here.'  
  
'Fine,' said Louis. 'Whatever you think is best.' He glanced around the room as Lestat did so, taking in the sparse furnishings. A bed with plenty of cushions and a luxurious-looking coverlet, a table with a few battered books, a heavy oak trunk, and precious little else. 'You live here?' he asked.  
  
'Sometimes,' said Lestat. 'I don't spend much time here. I travel a lot and when I'm in the village, I spend my days hunting.' He smiled. 'Do you hunt, Monsieur?'  
  
Louis shook his head. 'No. It's not my sort of pasttime.'  
  
'What do you like?'  
  
'I don't know. Books, I suppose. Look, wouldn't David be better--'  
  
'No small talk then,' said Lestat, more to himself than to Louis. He pulled off his shirt; Louis quickly averted his eyes.‘Don’t be a nincompoop! It’s not indecent. I’m only a man.’  
  
‘Yes,' Louis said shakily. 'A man.’He clasped his hands in front of him. 'I'm sorry.'  
  
'Don't be sorry.' Lestat stepped towards the window and pulled the curtain across. 'Nobody will see.'  
  
'See what?'  
  
Lestat ignored the question. 'Come here,' he said softly. His face was bathed in candlelight and he looked so achingly tender and good in that moment, so like Paul in golden youth, that Louis felt a pang. The man looked to him like an angel in that moment; how had he doubted him and fancied him rough?  
  
He came closer as commanded. Boldly, he reached out his hand and ran it across Lestat's cheek - soft - and along his jaw - the faint trace of stubble, a strong, masculine set - and down his neck. 'It spared your face. It didn't touch your throat,' he said.  
  
'Dogs are clumsy killers,' said Lestat. 'They go for the torso first.' He reached for Louis's hand, squeezing lightly when he flinched, and moved it to his chest. 'Here, look here.' He moved further into the light and Louis gasped at the wound he saw there.  
  
He ran his finger lightly over the scar, his eyes wide with wonder as he traced the savage rage of whatever had attacked Lestat. It was ugly; jagged, livid red skin healed in a criss-cross formation which spoke of badly-ministered stitching. Towards his clavicle, the skin was paler, scar tissue marring the smooth and well-built chest.  
  
His eyes swept across Lestat’s clavicle, taking in the toned chest, the nipples, and followed the nest of golden hair which ran down his toned belly and dipped below his breeches.  
  
Louis swallowed, feeling a jolt of erotic longing crash through him. He raised his eyes to meet Lestat’s, and flushed to see the knowing look directed at him. ‘It’s quite something,’ he breathed.  
  
‘Isn’t it just?’ said Lestat, with a wry grin.  
  
‘You should – you should perhaps—‘ he faltered, searched for something clever to say.  
  
Lestat reached out and caught his wrist. ‘There’s no shame in it.’  
  
‘In what?’ he said hotly.  
  
‘Come now, mon minou. I saw how you looked.’  
  
‘How did I look?’ snarled Louis. When Lestat didn’t reply, he tried to pull away, but the hunter did not let go. ‘Unhand me!’  
  
‘Don't be childish!'  
  
‘Did you trick me?' snarled Louis. 'Did you think I would fall for something so blatant? You sicken me, you depraved -- oh, I know how you provinicial lords are!’  
  
Lestat pushed him away easily, watching with satisfaction as he fell backwards and tripped over a footrest. ‘You’re a fool, Louis. It’s exactly that which will get you killed.’  
  
‘Is that a threat?’ asked Louis, struggling to sit up.  
  
‘I could have saved you.’  
  
‘You are, you’re threatening me, goddamn you!’  
  
‘You’d better hope that you don’t need my help,’ said Lestat, picking up his shirt from the floor and doing it up with angry, jerking motions. ‘Because I won’t be there when you need me.’ He left, slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
**  
  
When Louis returned to the main room, there was no sign of Lestat. He stomped over to the table where David sat talking to Jessica, picking up his coat. He pulled it on, muttering.  
  
'What befell you?' asked David, concerned.  
  
'Nothing, and only because I stopped it! Damn you, David! I'm going to bed.'  
  
Jessica sighed. 'Oh, Lestat.'  
  
'To hell with Lestat and to hell with you, David!' said Louis. 'I'm going outside before I say or do something I regret.'  
  
'Don't leave the village,' said Jessica quickly.  
  
'Why? The mythical monster will come and swallow me whole?'  
  
'Perhaps it will.'  
  
He heaved a great sigh. 'Of course. It's not like one could leave the village anyway, not in this snow.'  
  
'Just so,' she said amicably. She cast a glance at David, who smirked.  
  
'Listen to her, Louis.'  
  
He pulled on his coat, frowning. 'See here, if there's anything you want to tell me, then you should instead of ordering me about like a child.'  
  
'I'm not ordering you about, Monsieur,' said Jessica. 'Am I, David? I'm just watching out for you.'  
  
'We watch and are always there,' said David. Jessica laughed, and Louis seethed because he did not understand the joke they obviously shared.  
  
Jessica slapped David's hand lightly. 'Enough! But Monsieur Louis, would you not like to stay with us and talk and drink?'  
  
He considered, but even as he decided it might be best to stay, he caught sight of Lestat swaggering belligerently from the back rooms, making his way toward their table.  
  
'No,' he said abruptly. 'I have to clear my head.' He pushed his way past Lestat and out of the tavern.  
  
*  
  
He sat shivering on a low wall at the fountain in the village centre, glad for the sobering smack that the cold provided. If they had been in Lousiana, in that sultry heat where there were no rude lords but planters with pistols and honour, he would have challenged Lestat to a duel. He hated himself for his impotent rage here, though it gradually subsided and left in its wake a sense of embarrassment at how he'd reacted, and a deeper, more raw feeling about Lestat standing there in that candlelight that he pushed deep inside himself, refusing to mull it over.  
  
'You'll catch your death out here.'  
  
Louis looked up to see Babette Freniere standing near, holding some firewood. He scrambled to help her. 'But Mademoiselle Freniere, what are you doing out at this time?' he asked. 'It's a man's job to collect logs for the fire.'  
  
'We ran out,' she said, handing him the load. 'Pierre has a bad back so I chose an inconvenient walk over freezing. Mme. Dumont always has some to spare.' She smiled ruefully. 'If one is prepared to offer her some pastries as a gift, of course.'  
  
'Of course,' he agreed fatuously.    
  
'Come, follow me. I don't live far; just a little way down from the draper's. We can talk.'  
  
'I've had enough talking for one night,' he said, following at her side.  
  
'Oh. Then I shall be quiet.'  
  
 'No, no, I don't mean you.' He nodded towards the tavern. 'Those raucuous folk are really not my sort of people.'  
  
'They're not so bad, though Pierre swears blind they are scoundrels.' She cast him a sidelong glance. 'Mlle. Jessica is very pretty.'  
  
'I suppose,' he said non-committedly.  
  
She smiled and looked away dreamily. Then, 'And I suppose Monsieur de Lioncourt didn't charm you?'  
  
'Certainly not!' he said, softening when she recoiled slightly. 'He's just -- he's very, oh, I just don't...'  
  
'He tends to create that effect,' she said. 'But don't mind him.'  
  
'Do you like him?'  
  
Babette frowned. 'That's forward of you.'  
  
'You're right,' he said contritely. 'It was. Please forgive me.'  
  
'It's nothing.' She waved her hand dismissively. 'But don't talk of Monsieur de Lioncourt. Or anyone in particular, really. It's a very small village and gossip travels quickly.'  
  
'I'm sorry,' he repeated, chagrined.  
  
'I told you, it doesn't matter.'  
  
They walked without speaking for a while, listening to the sound of their shoes crunching in the snow, which had become hard and thin in the night cold and where it had been trampled underfoot by man and horse.  
  
Finally, Babette spoke. 'I don't much care for them myself,' she whispered.  
  
He stopped. 'Why not?'  
  
Babette glanced away from him, let out a long breath which curled like smoke in the cold air. 'Really, it's not seemly for a lady to be out at this time of the night, much less in the company of a stranger.'  
  
'But I'm no stranger. I'm Monsieur de Pointe du Lac. I'm merely Louis.'  
  
She smiled. 'You're not a bad sort.'  
  
'I should hope not!' he said, hefting the wood in his arms. 'I do after all try to be a gentleman.'  
  
'Jessica knows far more than you'd think,' she said abruptly.  
  
'What?'  
  
She considered. 'That's why I don't like her. We used to be friends, you know.'    
  
'Babette.' He bit his lip, anxious and joyful to speak with another who shared his-- his what, exactly? He wasn't sure. _Mistrust_ was too strong a word, but then how else to describe those sly looks from the patrons of the tavern, or how Jessica had cast David that knowing glance? But though David was insufferable and controlling at times, he was never needlessly cruel. 'I don't think Jessica is bad,' he said finally. 'Just that--'  
  
'She knows something,' finished Babette.  
  
'Yes,' he said lamely. 'But what?' 　  
  
Babette walked on, towards her little house, and he followed. 'Not here, in the dark,' she said. 'Not when anybody could be listening.'  
  
'I don't see anyone around.'  
  
'Come for dinner tomorrow night. Bring Monsieur Talbot. I can get rid of Pierre so we'll be alone.'  
  
'You don't trust Pierre?'  
  
'He's a good man, but he's afraid,' she scoffed. 'He'd rather I turned my head from these things.'  
  
'What things?'  
  
She clapped her hands together. 'I beg you, just wait. Tomorrow evening. Seven o'clock.'  
  
Louis nodded. 'I'll be there.'  
  
She lowered her voice. 'I look forward to it.' She pressed his hand conspiratorally, and he was struck by how lovely she was all over again when her brown eyes caught him up in their rebellious gleam. 'Tomorrow, then. Good night, Monsieur.'  
  
'Louis.'  
  
'Good night, Louis.'  
  
He watched as she walked into the house, then turned back towards the inn. She had put him in a much better mood; if he took the back stairs and avoided the tavern all together, he could make it to bed with a book without having to face David or Jessica or Lestat and have them ruin his mood.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Two brothers

David reeled in some time in the early hours of the morning, tripping noisily about the room as he washed and dressed in his nightclothes, then fell into his bed. Louis lay in silent resentment as his stepbrother began to snore drunkenly: he missed the pull of the alcohol. He couldn’t deny it.

He was restless. The bed was uncomfortable, the room chilly. He found himself thinking of Louisiana, and wishing he were there, warm and safe. He hated the cold and even though he had cocooned himself in two layers of bedclothes and the thick uncomfortable blanket, he still shivered.

His thoughts turned to Babette and those emphatic eyes of hers. It would be good to talk to her, unfettered, tomorrow.

He looked over at David, soundly, drunkenly asleep, and felt the creeping resentment once more. Why was he so immediately friendly with Monsieur de Lioncourt, to the exclusion of Louis himself? Why was David always so free and easy with people, anyway?

He refused to question why he was so bothered about David and Lestat. It was best to ignore the things which caused pain and questions, and the younger brother’s broken head at the foot of the stairs.

*

‘Oh, my word...’ groaned David. ‘I think I indulged in too much of that rough Auvergne wine yesterday.’

‘You did,’ said Louis. ‘You were snoring like a pig most of the night.’ He pulled away from the desk and wrenched the curtains open, so that David groaned again.

‘You fiend! Close the drapes!’

‘No, it’s past nine.’

‘Must you be so disagreeable all the time?’

‘Yes. Here, the maid brought us some coffee.’

David took the proffered cup gratefully. ‘Thank you. And I’m sorry for snoring.’

‘Must you be so agreeable all the time?’ said Louis with a smile.

David chuckled. ‘I suppose one of us has to be.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘Hmm, wretched. So you’re still in one piece - you didn’t leave the village, I see.’

‘No.’

‘I talked to Jessica for some time last night -- no, don’t so cynical. I want you to promise me something, and keep to it until we leave for Bari.’

Louis sighed. ‘What? Is this about my drinking? Because--’

‘No, stop that. I want you to promise me that you will not go anywhere near the forest at night.’

Louis threw up his hands. ‘I’m deeply tired of this superstitious nonsense, David!’

‘Look, even if you think it’s nonsense, won’t you oblige me? Won’t you do me this one favour?’

‘It’s unhealthy, David. It’s nearly the end of the eighteenth century, and still these people talk of werewolves and ghosts!’

‘I won’t go through this with you again,’ said David crossly. ‘If nothing else, you should be aware that the wolf packs here _do_ attack humans, and you would have no chance at night, would you?’

‘I suppose not,’ said Louis. ‘All right, I’ll do it for scientific,  _logical_ reasons.’

‘Good.’

‘Not that I’m interested in traipsing through that forest, anyway.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said David. ‘Because you’re coming along with me and Lestat to see if we can find anything today.’

‘But you said--’

‘There’ll be three of us, and it’s daytime.’

Louis glowered. ‘No. I’m going to write some letters, and sit by the fire, and be warm. And tonight, _you_ are coming with _me_ for dinner at Babette Freniere’s.’

David grinned. ‘You cad! So that’s why you left so abruptly last night.’

‘No, I left abruptly because Lestat de Lioncourt has the manners of a pig, and that’s also the reason why I won’t come with you today.’

‘Oh, come on, Louis! If I have to come to dinner just so you can swoon over Mlle. Freniere, then you can help me today.’

‘I’m not _swooning_ over anybody,’ snapped Louis. ‘Babette knows more about the mythical loup-garou than she has said before. I thought you might be interested to hear more silly country tales.’

David frowned. ‘Really? Did she tell you anything about Jessica?’

‘Just that she is secretive, and not so nice.’

‘She’s very nice, as is Lestat. He didn’t mean to insult you last night, you know.’

Louis froze, mortified to realise that David might be aware of what had happened. ‘W-what did he tell you?’ he stammered at last.

‘Nothing, much. Just that he was sorry. Why?’

‘No matter,’ said Louis.

David sat up straight. ‘Come here,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘You’re being disagreeable again.’

Louis wanted to argue the point, but to do so would be to prove his disagreeableness. He came and sat next to David, only to be swept up in an ungentlemanly hug. ‘What’s this for?’ he asked, flushing.

‘Because you’re a fool, and you care too much about what other people think.’ David placed a hand against his mouth before he could argue. ‘And because you don’t see the good in people, only the harm they can do you. I’m sorry life has made you like that.’

‘You’re being absurd,’ he said, embarrassed. He struggled tp extricate himself from David’s grasp, but his brother held him tighter.

‘And if you think I will ever do you harm, or think badly of you, you’re wrong.’

‘Apart from my drinking, and how I dress, and my manner, and the way I’m not like you.’

David shrugged. ‘We can’t all perfectly wonderful like me. Now go and freshen up -- we need to meet Lestat soon.’

‘Not to mar your perfection,’ said Louis, pulling away from him. ‘But you stink like an ale house.’

David pushed him off the bed, laughing. ‘So even I have flaws.’


	4. The Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you to Burnadette_dpdl for helping me pick this work back up, for being a great beta, and for some wonderful input I have totally filched from her and put into the following chapters. >:D

‘This is most vexing,’ said Louis. 

‘Quite,’ said David. He scrambled over some snow-covered rocks and turned around to offer Louis his hand. 

‘The damp of the snow is seeping into my boots now,’ grumbled Louis, holding onto him. He stared with displeasure at the land around them. ‘And there’s nowhere to sit out here. Besides which, I can barely see. Why did we need to strike out on a day blighted by thick fog?’ 

‘Yes, most disagreeable,’ said David airily. He strode off in the direction Lestat was walking. 

Lestat scowled back at him. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve taken to being sawny now.’ 

David shook his head. ‘Nothing of the sort. If you allow him to find fault with a fat goose, he tends to lull himself into a quiet sulk.’ 

‘No, I don’t!’ snapped Louis, stung. He trudged on after his companions sullenly, pushing his way through scrub and hissing in annoyance when his sleeve snagged on a thorn bush. ‘Alors! Why are you both laughing?’ he shouted out as Lestat and David burst into peals of laughter instead of their hushed mirth. 

‘Nothing,’ said David. ‘Why don’t you just--’ he trailed off as Lestat came to an abrupt halt and they collided. ‘What is it?’ he asked. 

‘Do you see the blood?’ said Lestat.

Louis and David gazed about them. Flecks of red were splattered across the trees, plants and dirt. There were large spatters of blood on the ground a little further up; they followed the trail. 

‘Christ,’ muttered David. Leading through a bush was a large smear of thick blood. 

Lestat reached down and swiped a finger through it. He gave a grim smile. ‘Recent kill.’ 

‘Let’s follow it,’ said David.

‘Are -- no!’ said Louis. He stared at them both in consternation. ‘If it’s recent, whoever did it could still be around. Can’t we just go back?’ 

‘Why do you think we are out here, you dolt? For a pleasant ramble?’ said Lestat. 

David gripped his brother’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Peace, Lestat. Louis is not accustomed to this.’ 

Louis squeezed his hand in mute thanks. Trust David to smooth it out. God, would he ever be able to cope without the buffer David presented? What had he done to deserve-- 

‘Just follow me!’ said Lestat, snapping him out of his melancholy thoughts. ‘It’s fine,’ said Lestat. He shouldered his way through the bush; they followed him into a clearing where something lay slumped in the snow. The fog hung so low and so thick that the silent ominous shape even gave Lestat pause. He approached it slowly. 

‘A deer,’ he breathed eventually. ‘Just a deer.’ He rubbed at his nose. ‘You can stop yowling; it’s dead.’ 

David crouched by the kill and inspected the carcass. A trickle of blood ran from the deer’s nostrils, still  steaming in the cold air. ‘They’ve only brought this down within the last hours’ He ran his hand over the bite marks across its flank, around the belly where its stomach had been ripped open so that its entrails spilled to the ground. ‘Clumsy, dog-like kill. It was mere wolves that did this.’ 

‘You sound disappointed,’ said Louis wryly. 

‘A little,’ said David. 

‘I’m in a forest  in France inspecting wolf kills when I should be in warmer climes, relaxing,’ said Louis. ‘It’s more than disappointing.’

‘Well, unremarkable, at least.’ 

‘There’s nothing of your supernatural foolishness about this, then?’ 

‘Any fool could tell you that there isn’t anything supernatural about a wolf kill,’ said Lestat. He nudged the deer with his foot and sniffed. ‘The beast doesn’t kill like that. It tears upon the throats of its victims, with the strength and precision of a hunting cat.’ His voice was heavy with reverence. 

‘Precisely,’ said David. ‘Which makes me wonder if what attacked you was even the same creature. The other victims -- those who died -- they had their throats torn out?’ 

‘Yes. Always the neck area,’ said Lestat darkly.   


Louis frowned. 'But your scar... you were bitten on your torso.'

'I told you, I managed to escape,' said Lestat. 'I may not be so fortuitous next time.'

‘Then we shall catch it,’ said David. 

Lestat sneered. ‘I should like to see you try.’ 

‘You did,’ said Louis. 

‘And I have the scars to prove it.’ Lestat looked about. ‘So much for the terrible wolves, my friends. They’re nowhere to be seen now.’ 

‘Shall we abandon the hunt?’ asked Louis hopefully. 

Lestat snorted. ‘For today.’ 

‘Good enough for me.’ 

Lestat ignored him. He crouched down and took out the great knife he had at his belt. ‘Ah, we should stop for something to eat, anyway,’ said Lestat. ‘It’s quite a trek back to the village.’

‘You want us to eat that?’ said Louis. 

‘You eat venison, don’t you?’ 

‘Not steaming and wolf-bitten from a forest floor, no.’ 

‘You bourgeois types,’ he laughed. 

David rubbed his hands together. ‘It’s an adventure, is it not? May we try it?’ 

‘For you, anything.’ Lestat slipped his bag from his shoulders and pulled out a thick blanket, which he spread on a flat rock some way from the deer. ‘Gather some wood, my friends. I’ll prepare the meat. I have some wine with me, too.’ 

‘But the wolves?’ said Louis, casting glances around the forest; it still seemed menacing and alien to him. 

‘I’ll protect you, don’t you worry your pretty head.’ 

Louis scowled. ‘I didn’t say--’

‘They abandoned this kill at least an hour past. They’ve taken the parts wolves prefer - see, the rump, the organs?’ Lestat pointed to the carcass with his hunting knife. ‘They eat the best parts last, luckily for us.’ He crouched down and began hacking at the flesh. ‘They won’t be back. Now go get me some wood.’ 

 

* * *

Louis had to grudgingly admit that the meal was quite satisfying, as uncivilized as it felt to take the pieces Lestat carved and prepared for them, rather unceremoniously. He had watched stonily as Lestat heartily slapped slabs of meat onto his plate, but it had somehow evolved into a silly game between them; Lestat lobbing the meat onto the plate, never breaking eye contact with Louis, who thanked him with the most obsequious pleasantries:

‘You  _ truly  _ are one of nature’s gentlemen, Lestat.’ 

_ Slap.  _

‘I had always fancied how venison juice would soften the skin of my face, and now I know. Thank you for proving my hypothesis.’

_ Slap. _

‘You’re welcome, Monsieur de Pointe du Lac. Have another piece.’ 

_ Slap.  _

‘I shall let the town know of this splendid al fresco restaurant.’  

He had exchanged a glance at his brother across their makeshift table, munching contentedly on his own portion. He even granted Lestat a genuine compliment when asked if it had been edible /without/ the side salad. The wine had been very complimentary to the meat, and they had shared it as hunters do, from the same flask.

David led the way back, requiring only the briefest directions from Lestat. He had experience of hunting large game and he seemed in his element in the forest. The terse asides had mellowed to companionable talk; Louis was grateful for it, despite himself. 

Louis still found it hard going, but he had resolved to keep his churlish comments to the bare bones of his talk, and he attempted to keep up with Lestat as if they were having a pleasant stroll. 

They clambered back over the massive roots of the tree they had passed some hours ago. ‘Watch your feet here,’ said Lestat.

‘I know, I remember the sodden mud from the first time,’ said Louis. He grasped a low-hung branch tightly and used it to steady himself, only to slip one foot into the same mud which had caught him before. ‘Rats!’ he laughed. ‘I told you, Monsieur - it seems to remember me as well.’ 

‘It’s better to hear you laugh than curse me,’ said Lestat with a smile. 

‘Yes, now help me up.’ 

Lestat obliged, reaching out a hand and grasping Louis’s arm, pulling him up with a grunt. The instant he touched him, goosebumps broke out along Louis’s arm. He shuddered, feeling as though someone had breathed right down his neck. 

‘Are you quite all right?’ asked Lestat, regarding him strangely. His blue eyes were soft. 

‘Yes, of course,’ said Louis, rubbing at his wrist where Lestat had released him. He looked past Lestat’s shoulder. ‘We’re losing David.’ 

‘We had better catch up with him, then.’ 

‘Yes.’ 

All three men lapsed into satiated silence, only speaking to warn each other of a slippery bit of ground or to make some bland observation. It was only as they neared the village that Lestat began to hum a tune which seemed strange and familiar all at once. He began to sing softly: 

 

_ ‘Per qu'ieu fauc avol essai _

_ Pos aissi vos suy humas; _

_ Qu'en feyratz s'ie·us fos trefas, _

_ Mals e felhs ez ergulhos? _

_ Fora·n plus aventuros – _

_ Oc! So·m par, pos ar esquiva _

_ M'es, quar ves vos franc cor ay’ _

 

‘You sing well,’ said Louis. 

‘I know I do,’ said Lestat. ‘Shall I sing it again?’ 

‘If you wish,’ said Louis. ‘What do the lyrics mean, anyway? I can barely catch the words.’ 

‘It’s just a silly love song,’ said Lestat, brushing snow from his shoulders. ‘They never mean anything.’ 

‘Still.’ 

‘I’ll sing it in French for you, this time. It loses something in translation, though:

_ I do the wrong thing _

_ in being so kind to you; _

_ what would you do if I were treacherous, _

_ evil, nefarious and haughty? _

_ Would I be more fortunate? _

_ Yes, it seems to me, for now she's uptight towards me _

_ because I have an earnest heart towards you. _ ’ 

 

Louis swallowed. He searched for something clever, pithy, to say, but his brain failed him. He cast a glance at Lestat, but the hunter was staring straight ahead, his expression like stone. 

 


	5. Babette's Feast

They parted from Lestat soon after, and made their way back to the tavern. David stopped in the bar to talk with Jessica, and, still disliking her knowing green gaze, Louis made his way up to their room, where overcome with cold and fatigue, dropped onto his bed and was asleep within minutes. 

He awoke some time later to see David seated at the desk, poring over some papers. Night was drawing in more fully and the room was lit by candles; it was a charming scene and so cosy that he was half-inclined to abide there, but he had an appointment and would never turn it down. 

‘You seem quite absorbed in that,’ he said. 

David nodded distractedly. ‘Yes, yes -- it will take me all night to read through this. It’s extraordinary.’ 

‘We have other things to do tonight,’ said Louis.

David shook his head. ‘I can’t sup at Babette’s this evening. I have too much to do.’ 

Louis sat back on the bed. ‘You promised me,’ he said, unable to bite back the disappointed tone in his voice. 

‘There will be time enough,’ said David. ‘I shall sup with you some other night.’ He looked up from his work and smiled. ‘Besides which, I rather fancy you would prefer some time alone with the beautiful Mademoiselle, eh?’ 

‘There’s no call for that,’ said Louis disapprovingly. ‘What do you take her for?’

‘Oh please,’ said David. ‘Nobody can ever resist you.’ 

‘Stop it.’ 

‘If only they could see your sour personality at the same time as your looks-- get off me!’ he laughed as Louis tackled him, winding his arms about his stepbrother’s neck. 

‘Non,’ said Louis, ‘I am taking some of your brash charm with me tonight, you irascible fiend.’ He stilled, his arms still wound about David’s neck. ‘What is this, anyway?’ 

David glanced down at the papers he had been reading. ‘Nothing to interest you,’ he said. ‘Just some studies Jessica has loaned me.’ 

‘You brush me off for this.’ 

‘No, I brush you off for us both. To make sense of this-- all this.’ He nodded emphatically. ‘Have a pleasant evening. Go on, get out of here,’ he said, with a wave of his hand. 

Louis kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m already gone,’ he said. 

 

* * *

The air outside was sharp, a rap to the senses. Louis pulled his greatcoat around himself tighter, knotting it haphazardly around his slim waist. He had procured a bottle of wine from Jessica, braving her knowing look, and he carried it in his left hand. He had forgotten his gloves but decided against returning to his room and having the eyes of the tavern-goers on him once more. 

He walked on through the village, past the dark houses, only occasionally lit from within, past the fountain, the little shops shut up for the night, the old ironmonger’s which was cold and quiet now but still reeking of forged metals, the tiny little church with its doors heavily bolted against the cold. Further on the houses were scattered more remotely, a low wall his only companion as he walked past each house and garden and field to Babette’s address. 

He was not given to singing much, but he sang softly under his breath; the stillness was unnerving without it. 

A single howl punctured the stillness of the night, colder and more malevolent than the dark freezing winter around him. Almost immediately, it was followed by a multitude of savage hateful howls, and he fancied that they came from all around him. He whirled around fearfully, half expecting to find himself surrounded by wolves. The bottle of wine slipped from his grasp and exploded in garnet liquid and shards of glass; he jumped back to avoid it and fell hard onto the freezing ground. 

He pushed himself up and gazed about quickly. No wolves, nothing. He chided himself as he wiped the snow and dirt from his clothes. ‘Idiot,’ he said crossly. ‘There’s nothing out here.’ 

‘Hallo, what are you doing? Playing in the snow like a child?’ 

Louis threw back his head and sighed.  _ Perfect _ . He turned to see Lestat, bundled up in a thick coat, practical heavy boots and his hair as wild and free as the previous night. ‘What are  _ you  _ doing here, I might ask?’ 

‘I’m a hunter, you dolt,’ said Lestat with a pleasant smile. ‘I was about to head off into the forest and check my traps.’ 

‘Didn’t you hear the wolves?’ asked Louis, shuddering despite himself. 

Lestat gave a careless shrug. ‘I’ve never been afraid of them and I don’t intend to start being afraid now.’ He sniffed. ‘You should be more careful, though. They would take you in an instant, my friend.’

‘I would have run.’ 

‘Never run from wolves, ever. They will hunt you down and they will  _ enjoy  _ your fear.’  

‘I’m not afraid,’ said Louis. 

‘Liar,’ said Lestat. He threw his arm about Louis’s shoulder. ‘Shall I walk with you?’ 

Louis ducked out from under his arm. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, though he was in truth greatly relieved; he was still shaken from the wolves. ‘It’s not too far, anyway.’ 

Lestat fell into step with him. ‘Aren’t you cold? You’re not dressed well for this season, at all.’ 

‘I didn’t expect to be allayed here,’ said Louis, annoyed. ‘What did you expect?’ 

‘Do you want my coat?’ 

Louis cast him a sidelong glance. ‘No, but that is kind of you,’ he said, meaning it. 

Lestat smiled. ‘I would have given you it.’ 

‘I know.’ 

Lestat’s smile widened. ‘There is a gathering at the tavern tonight,’ he said. ‘Most everyone will be there. You should come along.’ 

‘I’m busy tonight,’ said Louis.

‘Where are you going, anyway?’ 

‘To visit a friend.’

‘Which friend?’ 

Louis scowled. ‘Does it matter? Mon dieu, the questions you folk ask!’ 

Lestat leapt onto the low wall beside Louis with acrobatic ease. He followed him along its length with feline grace. Louis did his best not to look at him, but he allowed himself a quick glance every now and then. 

‘Where are you going?’ asked Lestat again. 

‘To Babette Freniere’s,’ he snapped. ‘Now are you satisfied?’ 

‘Oh. You’re meeting with her, your lady love?’

Louis set his mouth in a firm line. He turned to Lestat. ‘Listen to me, you rapscallion: you won’t talk about her that way.’ 

‘So she isn’t your lady love?’ 

Louis ran a hand through his hair. ‘Can I help you with anything?’ 

Lestat considered. ‘No,’ he said, shrugging. 

‘Then I shall take my leave of you. Good night.’ 

Lestat jumped down from the wall. ‘You shouldn’t walk alone at night,’ he said. He reached forward and, with offensive intimacy, fixed Louis’s collar. ‘There are wolves about.’ 

Louis grasped Lestat’s wrists to still him. ‘I will be fine,’ he said. ‘Nothing will happen to me.’ 

The hunter smiled at him. ‘You are very sure of yourself, Monsieur Stiff-Rump.’

‘I think you would have stopped me with some ghastly trick if you thought there was any real danger,’ he said. 

Lestat pulled his wrists from Louis and ruffled his thick black hair fondly, his grin widening at Louis’s annoyed scowl. ‘You would rely on me to save you,’ he said. ‘Very well.’ He stepped back and spread his hands. ‘Go to her, your lady love. There’s time enough for all things. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘But stay away from the forest. I can’t help you there, not at night.’

Louis watched as he turned and sauntered back the way he had come. ‘Why would I go near the forest?’ he muttered to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Ah, you are early!’ said Pierre. He pulled Louis into the hallway, kissing his cheeks four times - somewhat excessively, thought Louis peevishly, but he knew it to be the Auvergne way. ‘I was just about to head out to see my friend. Only give me a few moments and I shall leave you alone.’ 

‘But you are going?’ asked Louis. Of course, he knew Babette was going to try and steal time alone with Louis, but he had not truly expected the man to bow to a woman’s whims. 

‘Of course,’ said Babette, peering out from the dining room. ‘Pierre does not so much like my cooking.’ 

‘Quiet, woman!’ he said. ‘It is perfectly fine but I have already eaten.’ 

‘Shouldn’t Pierre remain as an escort?’ Louis asked, scandalised. 

Babette laughed. ‘This is Auvergne, Monsieur. We are not like you bourgeois Americans.’ 

‘I’m French,’ he said, bristling. 

‘But we are not,’ said Babette. ‘You are closer to a Parisian than I am. It’s why you don’t see things clearly’.

‘What things?’ 

She wiped down her skirt. ‘Let me serve you supper, then we shall talk. Come on, come through to the parlour; I will fetch you wine.’ 

Louis followed after her, mortified. ‘Mademoiselle, please accept my apologies -- I  _ did  _ bring you wine--’ 

‘Oh?’ she asked, turning. ‘Do you want me to serve you that instead?’ 

He heaved a sigh. ‘I’m afraid it has ended up as a tribute to the town’s fountain,’ he said wryly, gesturing to the small splatters of wine on his coat and breeches. 

‘That was good tribute,’ said Babette, laughing. ‘But you know, it was unnecessary for you to bring anything. It’s not how it’s done here, and besides, I have the right wine for the meal.’ She reached forward and pressed his hand. ‘But you should be careful, the ice is very dangerous along the cobbled streets. It’s black ice, and you’re liable to crack your head.’ 

Louis gave a mock shudder. ‘I think I shall partake in that wine now,’ he said. ‘I’m a little shaken. 

She gave him a long look. ‘You haven’t heard one half of it, yet.’ 

 

* * *

‘Witchcraft.’ said Louis flatly. He placed his palms on the table and stared down at the back of his hands, the swell of disappointment rising in his breast. 

‘Yes,’ said Babette, putting down her fork. ‘That is the truth of it.’ 

‘Witches are killing people in the woods,’ said Louis. He bit his lip. ‘You-- you believe this?’ 

‘You think me mad,’ she said finally.

‘No, of course not—‘ he protested, but he could not meet her earnest gaze.

‘I expected more,’ she sighed, resting her chin on her hands with such melancholy grace that he was charmed. ‘But you are only a man; that is all.’

‘Mademoiselle,’ he started.

She gave him a tolerant look. ‘I’ll tell you all, and then you shall decide that I truly do speak a lot of gammon, and have me delivered at the very gates of the asylum.’ She took a sip of wine  and banged the glass on the table ungracefully, so that a little of it sloshed out of the glass.

‘The winter has been harsh. Our crops failed this year, did you know that?’ 

‘I wasn’t privy to such scandal, no.’ 

Babette cast him another tolerant look. ‘These things matter when you don’t have the luxury of a town nearby.’ 

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, chagrined. 

‘The elders in this village are very powerful. And many of them have held their lands for centuries, and if the land does not do well, they do not do well.’ 

‘What are you saying?’ he asked warily. 

‘The killings only began with the crops failing,’ she said. ‘There is a meeting of the elders, and then a person goes missing. They think we don’t notice - no, they don’t  _ care  _ that we notice, for who will do anything? We don’t have your gendarmes here to help us, and who would listen to a shopkeeper over a lord?’

‘You have evidence for this?’ 

‘What evidence do you need?’ she scoffed.  ‘Every time, it is a young person. Always, they are found with a tattered red cloak. Now, why would that be, Monsieur?’

‘Why indeed?’ he said whimsically. 

‘To attract attention to the beast, whatever it is. These people are sacrificed.’ 

Louis placed his head in his hands. ‘This is nonsense!’ he snapped. ‘I can’t believe it, Babette! Who would follow such tripe, such blasphemous--’ 

‘Peace!’ she said urgently. ‘I know it’s hard to comprehend, but you must believe me, Louis! You must!’ 

He looked up at her. ‘No, I can’t,’ he said. ‘I won’t.’ He sighed. ‘You mustn’t be angry with me, not for being a logical, God-fearing man, no matter how that may displease you.’ 

‘I am not angry,’ she said lightly. ‘I am fully aware that I sound mad, and I would be disappointed in you if you were to follow me blindly just to please me.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘But you will see, Monsieur. Everyone finds out eventually, though they don’t talk of it. And those who do talk, well, they don’t always survive.’ 

‘I don’t know what to say to that,’ he said. 

‘You don’t need to say anything to placate me,’ said Babette. ‘All I ask of you is that you keep your eyes open. Can you do that for me, if nothing else?’ 

He nodded solemnly. ‘Of course.’ 

They sat in silence for some minutes, both ruminating; Louis thought of the night he had arrived with David, and the strange mien of the tavern-folk. But then David was always aware of bad things, and he had not been alarmed. He thought of how David had talked with the barmaid, secretively and friendly-like. 

‘But Jessica?’ he said abruptly. 

Babette started. ‘What about her?’ 

‘She’s English. Young. She’s alive. Surely if they were to sacrifice some innocent with no family, she would be perfect.’ 

‘It doesn’t work like that,’ said Babette. ‘But she is so strong that I don’t think they would dare.’ 

‘Yes,’ he said, thinking of her assured way, how she brazenly held the gaze of any man who looked at her. 

‘And you know,’ she said eagerly, warming to the subject. ‘Jessica confuses me most of all. She came to this village about three years ago, and she was nobody’s fool. But she is so mysterious! And you know, secretive people do not do so well in village life. But nobody dared take her on, though she did pry so! She was most interested in Lestat de Lioncourt and his mother, Gabrielle – you know what happened to his mother?’

‘She was sick.’

‘Sick unto death!’ exclaimed Babette. ‘And yet the Lord as my witness, our prayers and Jessica’s healing worked wonders.  One day the priest was at her bedside and Lestat was cursing him, using the most sacrilegious oaths, and then she grew better and better until a week later she sat up and said she was hungry.’

‘But she left? Despite all that, she left the village?’

Babette nodded. ‘She was always cold, always quite disagreeable before.’ She considered. ‘But after, Louis, she was unbearable. She had such a way about her, such haughtiness…’ she wrinkled her nose, searching for the right word. ‘No, that’s not it. Such contempt for us.’

Louis was quiet. He found himself returning to Lestat again and again, imagining his anger, how fierce and wild he would have looked when driven to rage by his mother’s illness. He did not judge Lestat for his cruel words to the priest, remembering with shame his own vitriol at the priest who had insisted Paul had been mad.

‘They called him wolfkiller in the village,’ said Babette, breaking his reverie. ‘Lestat, I mean. We did not have a Beast like Gevaudan, but we may as well have. The wolves had never been so bold. A man could not leave his house after dark, for they roamed the village in a great pack. Nobody dared fight them, until Lestat came here to join his mother.’ 

‘He’s not from the village, then?’ 

She shook her head. ‘No, they from the mountains. They had a home up there amongst the herders. Some say they were from a noble family. They certainly were haughty enough.’ 

‘But-- Lestat is coarse--’ 

‘Americans,’ she said fondly. ‘But I digress. Lestat killed the wolves, and still they kept returning. You would think they would be afrighted; wolves aren’t stupid. But they grew more wild, more determined, and Lestat grew wild with them.’ She shuddered. ‘He was feverish, and strange. He spent more time in the forest and people could not stand to be around him whenever he returned; he was like a wild animal. He was  _ like a wolf _ .’ 

‘And then one day he came back and he was no longer wild. But he was different, somehow.’ She furrowed her brow. ‘He reminds me of a lynx, his eyes are still and cold. Pierre disagrees: he thinks he’s the same old Lestat, but I don’t. I never much liked him, truth be told. I don’t like his caprices and how he is so wanton with the ladies, so maybe his glamour doesn’t work on me.’

‘His glamour?’ said Louis. ‘You make him sound like a warlock.’

She laughed shortly. ‘No, perhaps it’s not the right word. Then again, I can’t think of any other way to say it. He spellbinds people. All the women love him.’ She considered. ‘Some of the men, too.’ 

Louis thought of David, free and easy with Lestat.

‘He didn’t spellbind me,’ he said firmly. ‘I see him for what he is.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘As… as…’ he grasped for the words, but none came. ‘I am afraid I can’t quite explain it, but I see him.’ He frowned. ‘And I think he  _ knows  _ I see him.’ 

‘Do you feel these things like your brother?’ 

He shook his head. ‘Non,’ he said soberly. ‘We are not related by blood; I don’t have his gift.’ 

‘If one man can see these things, why can’t any man?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ he said softly. ‘I’m aware of my own limitations.’ 

‘But you know something is out of sorts in this place.’ 

As if on cue, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He gazed out the window and shuddered. 

‘I talked with a blind man once,’ he said. ‘And I asked him what he  _ sees _ and he told me nothing. Of course, that’s quite impossible because even if it is just the darkness in his skull, he  _ sees  _ the pitch night.’ 

‘Yes.’ 

He wagged his finger. ‘But that’s not it. He told me I was wrong. He doesn’t see darkness. He sees  _ nothing _ .’ 

‘Only if he didn’t have eyes at all--’ 

‘Close one eye for me.’ 

‘Not both?’ 

‘No, just the one.’ 

She did so. ‘And now what? Shall I describe the darkness?’

‘No. Tell me what you see.’ 

‘The darkness.’ 

‘No. What do you  _ see _ ?’ 

She opened both eyes in wonder. ‘Nothing,’ she whispered. ‘Absence.’ 

He smiled to see she understood. 

‘What made you tell me such a thing?’ 

His gaze moved to the window, where the forest loomed and not a man stirred. ‘I was just thinking,’ he said. He cast her a warm look to dispel the familiar melancholy snaking its way into his heart once again, but her lovely face was already a skull.

‘But you’re cold,’ she said. 

He shook his head slightly, more to clear his befogged mind than in denial. ‘Non,’ he said. 

‘Yes, you are. You just took a great shiver.’ Babette scraped her chair back and pulled it closer to him. She placed her hand on his -- delicate and darker than Louis’s own -- and held it there a long moment. She smelled of roses. 

‘I just never--’ he began. 

She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. He kept his eyes open, and flushed with shame when she pulled back, for her eyes were closed. ‘I’m sorry, you were saying?’ she asked, opening her eyes slowly. 

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. The wine was working in him now; everything was languid and hazy and familiar. He pulled her close, and this time, he fell into the kiss gladly.


End file.
